


Pink Glazed Donut

by PiecesOfScully



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, just dirty, one of those kind of stories if you will, this is just dirty for the sake of being dirty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:00:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29637780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PiecesOfScully/pseuds/PiecesOfScully
Relationships: Fox Mulder & Dana Scully, Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Kudos: 31





	Pink Glazed Donut

He knew she was close by the way her thighs twitched beneath the grip of his hands and how her hips rocked against his face, thrusting in a greedy search for more. The mewing noises she emitted as her fingers tangled in his hair made his own hips buck in response, groaning into her folds as he pressed himself into the mattress. She was always boisterous in the morning, less inhibited, and the sound of it nearly drove him over the edge.

“Don’t stop,” she hissed.

His fingertips dug into the fleshy part of her thighs, holding her in place as he lapped at the center of her, building the momentum with each long swipe of his tongue. Her breasts rose and fell under the heaving of her chest, her face pressed into the pillow, it’s fluff absorbing the sharp cries of his name as her body contracted and stiffened.

“MulderMulderMulderOhmyGodMulder.”

He licked up each wave of her orgasm as it coursed through her body, stopping only to press sloppy kisses to her lower abdomen as her body relaxed and melted into the bed.

“Good morning,” his voice growled into the flesh beneath her bellybutton.

Scully chuckled. “Morning.”

Her body was pliant beneath him as he inched his way towards her face, supple as he dragged his hardness up her thigh. She arched into him as he ran the stubble of his chin across her nipple, silently begging for his mouth’s affection once again. Her nails raked across his shoulders as he turned his face and pulled it between his lips, his gaze falling on the alarm clock, the bright red numbers glaring back at him.

8:27am.

“Fuck,” he uttered.

Scully hummed in response, gripping the sides of his face and pulling his mouth to hers.

“Shit, Scully, I’m late,” he said against her lips, then pulled from her embrace and leapt off the side of the bed, immediately gathering his discarded clothing.

“For what?” Scully asked as she propped herself up on her elbows, her eyebrows knit in confusion as she watched him scramble to yank his dress pants over his boxers. “Mulder, it’s Saturday.”

“I have that meeting- have you seen my tie?” he asked as he thrust his arms into yesterday’s dress shirt, his fingers working quickly to button it, then jamming the lower part under his belt. Skinner and his early morning weekend meetings was going to be the death of him, he was sure. Or at least the death of his career. He wondered how many agents could state that their career came to an abrupt end following a series of write-ups for lack of punctuality.

She stared at him from beneath that perched eyebrow and pointed to the chair in the corner of the room.

“It starts at 9,” he continued as he loosely hung his tie around his neck, then draped his jacket over his arm. Rush induced sweat beaded around his hairline and down the back of his neck, and he swiped at it with the back of his hand. “Skinner had that tone that if I missed this meeting- my shoes. Where are my shoes?”

Scully sighed and dropped back into the pillow, throwing her arm over her eyes. “By the door. Keys and wallet on the table.”

A loud thump, followed by the sound of miscellaneous items hitting the floor and a muttered ‘fuck you, chair’ drew another sigh from her, and the door slammed shut.

—

9:18am

Mulder tossed a wave at Kimberly as he hurried past her desk, ignoring the apologetic look that followed him as he entered Skinner’s office with defenses sitting high on his shoulders and an excuse at the the tip of his tongue.

“Sir, I’m sorry I’m late, but there was a traffic jam on the interstate-”

Skinner glanced up from his desk, peering at Mulder over the rim of his glasses.

“-which is unusual, given that it’s Saturday, and-”

Skinner held his hand in the air, pausing Mulder. “Did you not receive the email I sent stating that the meeting was pushed back until 9:30?”

“Pushed back?” Mulder turned in place and looked around the office, noticing the empty seats. Relief flooded through him as he dropped his weight into a chair opposite Skinner’s desk. “No, sir, I haven’t had a chance to check my email.”

As the adrenaline slowly drained from his system, he rubbed at the headache that had begun to throb in his temples. The weight of his superior’s gaze fell heavily over him, too intense to ignore, and lifted his eyes to make contact. Mulder shifted in his seat as Skinner’s eyes narrowed. 

“Agent Mulder, I need to remind you that The Director will be in this meeting, and I suggest you make good use of the next twelve minutes by considering paying a visit to the men’s restroom to,” he cleared his throat and dropped his gaze to the paperwork before him, “clean up.”

Mulder’s eyebrows furrowed as he ran his hands down his tie and glanced at the front of his shirt. Save for a minor wrinkle below the pocket, it was spotless. “Sir?”

Skinner set his pen aside and folded his hands in front of him with a sigh. His eyes flicked towards the open door and he leaned forward towards Mulder, dropping his voice to barely above a whisper. “Man to man, a little soap and water will take care of that.”

“I’m sorry, but take care of what?”

“The pink donut glaze, Mulder.”

Mulder’s eyebrows lifted. “The- the what?”

Skinner used his index finger and motioned to the area around the lower half of his face. “Do I need to spell it out for you?”

The muscles of Mulder’s jaw clenched as the realization hit him, and he fought the urge to cover his mouth. Earlier that morning. Scully. He shook his head. “No, I, uh, no.”

Skinner nodded and picked up his pen, turning his attention again to the paperwork before him. “Eleven minutes.”

Mulder stood and straightened his tie, and crossed to the door without another word.

xx


End file.
